


Our Breaks

by Sakurasmiles



Series: Confluences [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: (if I got any of the lore wrong please don't hate me lore sempais), (no seriously I mean slooooow), Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst and Feels, Crystal Tower Arc Spoilers (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), NPC Backstory, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Slow Burn, head canons, lore heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurasmiles/pseuds/Sakurasmiles
Summary: Exploring the past, one era at a time.(aka I spent two weeks pouring over all the relevant English and Japanese game lore/cutscenes I could find, developing this head canon, because a couple blocks of text from the English lore book just wasn’t cutting it for me.)October 11, 2019: Sorry that the next chapter has taken me so long! It has not been nicely cooperative these last weeks, and it's gone through quite a bit of editing/re-working.A hiccup near the end of writing I wasn't expecting is still giving me lots of trouble; I need to do something about it. Then finishing up the writing itself is needed, and polishing everything so I'm happy with it. (Plus writing the End Notes, because that's probably going to be a doozy in and of itself.)But rest assured I AM still working on this. (I wasn't kidding when I said I was a slow writer. 😅)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn’t planned on making this a multi-part fic (because I generally prefer to read and present works as one-shots.)  
But I _also_ hadn't planned on this being almost twice the length of “Your Shades” before it was even close to finished. So here we are. :)
> 
> I’ll have a <strike>lengthier list</strike> link to a lengthier list in the End Notes, but FYI some of the info in this fic is actual canon as-is (and some info is only inspired by canon; filled in with non-canon details assumed from canon that we do know.)

There was a day when, armed with certain information, G’raha Tia felt as though nearly everything in his life was for the sake of this. Like every decision, interaction, and characteristic had been to ensure he was suited for this particular fate.

But it was not a day that five-year-old G’raha could have guessed would ever come.

* * *

If his mismatched eyes had been something closer to normal—cyan and green perhaps, or even a blatantly contrasting yellow—it would never have been like this. Children can be thoughtless, not understanding that innocent intent may still lead to hurt feelings. Or even if intentional, mocking others’ differences preemptively to avoid being shunned for their own, children grow out of that over time. And time would have eventually healed a wound at that depth.

But the orb of red, like a pool of blood staining his face, was another matter entirely. Fear unchecked, not just in children but also otherwise rational adults, left little recourse for the one in every generation born with that specific trait.

G’raha had always known the other children were afraid of him, avoiding him whenever possible due to rumors of Calamity-causing red-eyed demons. Even his older half-siblings, born of the same nunh father, held little goodwill or affection for him. He was soon used to the sight of others’ backs turned away from him, except for his father’s while he was still a young boy.

They’d sit together sometimes: G’raha talking about his day, with his father singing songs or telling him fascinating stories about ancient civilizations. (Which definitely informed what books he’d request from his father as he grew up.) His mother had died before he was old enough to even remember her, so his connection to family and tribe was just this single fragile thread.

He learned to exist quietly in his tribe’s communal spaces: often alone and lost in the pages of his father’s presents, or singing softly on the outskirts of village gatherings. If he ever missed and craved the others’ company, he ignored when its absence panged annoyingly at his heart.

He did train in varying methods of defense and hunting, as was required for any child of the tribe, but ultimately focused his efforts on the bow; no sparring required. He’d had more than his fill of being left partnerless early on, always relegated to an instructor showing nearly as much reluctance as his peers.

He dreamt of arrowed adventure and glory while in bed, tucked farther away from the others in his sleep hall. But his nightmares could always be sourced back to the same persistent question: _why him?_ (His ability to block them out while awake grew stronger and stronger, which was just as well. He never imagined a satisfying answer, anyway.)

All things considered, he coped and managed admirably as he grew…but for the little things that he missed out on. A word of praise here, a nameday celebration there. The formal, stuffy tone that dominated interactions with most adults—as though by keeping G’raha distanced, he was a shared obligation no single person need bear overlong.

His habit of casual—arguably rude—speech with both peers and his elders began early on: he was always chasing a reaction that was, for once, not pale.

It never came, at least not within his own tribe. And as he grew used to it, they in turn made no comment about the bite of anger and resentment in his tone.

Aside from his father, all of his positive interactions were with outsiders as he aged and became more independent. Conversations with the various merchants he’d meet were often warmer than the ones he had at home. (The skins and meats from his hunts could be sold to them for gil, which he in turn spent on new scrolls or books whenever possible.)

When he’d venture into towns and cities, he’d sometimes spend hours talking to whoever was willing to sit and chat with an unusually cheerful, mildly precocious, and somewhat cheeky ten year old. The more he conversed with those outside the tribe, the more he realized his situation at home was not the be all and end all for him. And his parched heart gladly absorbed all of the joy that thought brought him.

But it was only a couple years later, as he inched closer to full grownhood, that his understanding of his situation matured along with him.

His father had long abdicated his position as a nunh breeder—returning to a tia willingly after G’raha’s birth, which had been unusual at his father’s age. A few years before G’raha would be eligible to issue nunh challenges, his father took him aside for their longest talk ever.

That day he learned the truth of the fantastical tales his father had told him as a small child, everything his father had heard from Grandfather before: their eye was different not for its perceived horrors, but for its important connection to the Allagan Empire some 5000 years earlier. No one knew why the Allagan Eye existed in their line or the reason for its rarity, but it was _imperative_ that it persist through every generation until and unless its true purpose was rediscovered and carried out. Amended childhood stories flowed out of his father all afternoon, adding importance to his ostracizing trait…as well as new burdens he hadn’t considered before.

Namely that, because of inheriting the Eye, when he was of age G’raha would become the next in his line obligated to challenge for the title of nuhn. (Or seek out another tribe and fight for the position there.)

Challenge, and challenge, and challenge. And like his father, grandfather, and countless others before, constantly defend his rank against would-be usurpers. Well above and beyond the normal numbers, until and unless a child sharing their Eye was born.

And there _would_ be extra challengers if he chose to stay, his father shared bluntly with no minced words. For every person who had simply distanced themselves from both G’raha and his father, there would be those whose actions were more actively swayed by the rumors. Wanting the trait to end with G’raha and aiming to ensure that outcome—either directly via personal nunh challenges, or by coaxing the males around them toward continued attempts. Something to endure indefinitely if the fates weren’t kind…

As he sat, looking at his father but starting into space as he began to process things, he realized something: if not for the Allagan Eye…maybe his father wouldn’t have become a nunh at all? G'raha couldn’t stomach asking him outright, but he wondered about it anyway. Subtle tones underlying their conversation gave that theory potential; G’raha had spent too much of his life observing the motivations and negative feelings of others to not see the weight of his father’s past burdens in the lines of tired eyes. He could not know for sure that he and his many half-siblings weren’t a burden as well.

He tried to force aside how that possibility stung him. _(Is it so shocking that he wouldn’t want you either? No one else does…)_ His heart traitorously worked against him as his father left for dinner, and he tried to focus only on his mind.

Yet while he thought things through alone that evening, relying on a tree to support his leaning frame…G’raha realized that he had no desire to become a nunh for his tribe. How could he blame his father if he himself felt the same?

He thanked his lucky stars that attempts to end him would be seen as no less than murder, and had no desire to test that taboo’s limits. But his aversion to the plan ran much deeper than that.

He could see himself clearly having this afternoon’s conversation with his own offspring in the coming decades, unable to hide that they were born out of an obligation he himself didn’t fully understand. Even worse…what if his child of the Eye experienced the same social isolation that he had?

The thought made him so ill that he needed to close his eyes and swallow hard to stop himself from crumbling. He was _not_ going to sentence anyone else to what he’d experienced; becoming a nunh for his own tribe was not an option.

If necessary he could find another tribe and challenge their nuhn, possibly avoiding his own tribe’s prejudices…but for how long? There was no guarantee the rumors would not resurface in a new place and history would repeat itself despite his efforts. No, not ideal.

It was more palpable to follow other races’ cultural norms and try to find a partner with whom to mate, or perhaps curry favor with a pack of Keeper families and hopefully find one that way. Truth be told, after learning of them he’d admired the races that tended to partner for love and preferred the idea to his own culture’s ways. But both options were still too risky, holding no guarantees that bearing children would even be possible with whoever he ended up loving.

Assuming such a person even existed, and that he could gain their love in return…

He wasn’t optimistic.

Yet despite the pain it’d wrought upon him, he couldn’t just _ignore_ why the Eye was in his line and let it die out a mystery. Far from it: in light of this development, he was utterly fascinated by the trait that had been passed down for countless generations. _What it could mean—why us? How could I possibly be connected to such a lost civilization? _The desire to know took root and would not leave him be.

He slept uneasy that night, restless and bound by his newfound knowledge. He woke up several times, sleeping in short dreamless bursts. Something inside of him would just _not_ let him accept this fate and pursue it as his father proposed. If there was anything G’raha’s life had taught him, it was how to exist beyond the normal and expected.

_There has to be another way…_ he thought as he finally drifted off for the last time.

When he woke the next morning, he was exhausted and only half-conscious as he went about his day. He gave up and settled on a branch with a book by mid-afternoon, hoping to calm his mind and heart via reading and a possible nap. But when he opened the book, he just stared at its pages as it hit him.

_What if…there's a different path, a better path? A_ scholar’s _path?_ G’raha had often seen Sharlayan researchers in settlements and cities during his visits. He’d admired them, having read a great many of their books and scrolls for sale, and always questioned those he was chatting with about what they knew of the scholars before starting a conversation with them himself. Even some of the Students of Baldesion had been there once or twice, and G’raha remembered the first time he’d seen them—he’d been conversing with an elderly man and switched topics when they arrived.

“Those bookies over there? They’re led by Galuf Baldesion up in Sharlayan somewhere. I think they research…things, but Thal’s Balls boy just go ask them yourself if you want to know more. I haven’t the foggiest about any o’ that!” And just like that the older man had shooed him off with a surprisingly strong smack of encouragement to the bum; stumbling towards the Students like someone hours deep in their cups was _not_ the first impression he had hoped for.

(G’raha’s face was possibly as red as his eye and hair as he finally stopped upright before them, but he always tried not to remember that part too clearly.)

However ungraceful his entrance might have been, the Students still answered many of his questions about life as a researcher and Sharlayan in general before they left to attend to other matters. And though it didn’t fully sink in at the time (he was too busy glaring daggers back at that old man), he’d been absolutely enchanted by the scholars’ tales.

So…why couldn’t he just travel to Sharlayan to study and research the Allagan Eye himself? One of the Students that day had mentioned he reminded them of someone named Krile, a couple years younger than him—she’d come to scholarly pursuits by way of Galuf’s orphanage, so G’raha had no impression that a certain background or means was absolutely required to learn.

Maybe, just maybe, he could be the one to decipher the Allagan Eye’s meaning and act accordingly once fully informed. He wanted to try—he already loved what he’d been exposed to so far. And if the worst came to pass and he researched for too long without an actionable understanding of the Eye? He could always reconsider his plan then and take up the issue of children later.

G’raha smiled to himself as he closed the book and settled in for a deep, restful nap.

* * *

Leaving his father was the only truly hard part when it was finally time, but G’raha had explained his decision and fall-back strategies to the man as soon as he’d mapped out his plan in full. His father had spent weeks thinking through it while G’raha used his current knowledge (and a few very tasty hunting kills) to ingratiate himself with all the Sharlayan scholars he could find. Eventually, one of them believed strongly in his potential and agreed to travel with and be a sponsor for his learning in Sharlayan.

By the time that was settled and G’raha was packing his things to leave the tribe for good, his father had seemed almost…relieved by the course that had unfolded. And as he started the journey north with his books and bow and the clothes on his back, he knew that if he could finally solve this he wouldn’t just be taking control over his own future.

He couldn’t possibly thank his father for all the years better than by someday providing him with the succor of the full truth: real answers, finally…

* * *

The initial years of study passed very quickly, so serene they were compared to the social and emotional turmoil of G’raha’s prior life. His bright mind, passion for hours of intellectual pursuits, and combat prowess served him well in the Old World. Days and evenings were both full and left him exhausted when he’d finally sink into bed for sleep. (Defying his own body’s natural affinity for daylit hours out of necessity, until he felt as awake and aware under the moon as he did in the sun.)

His daily group lessons required early mornings with few pauses, except for a midday meal before another few hours in the classroom. (If there was a downside to his decision, G’raha noticed it in the nutritious-but-bland dishes served in Sharlayan. He grew to tolerate it, but sorely missed a well-seasoned and flavorful Eorzean meal.)

After lessons, though many fledgling scholars might return to their quarters for leisure or self-study, G’raha’s modest personal tuition was an arrangement not of gil but of goods. And paying it was a near-daily task, save the days he let himself rest from illness or when he’d been particularly lucky recently.

He’d caught the eye of his sponsor that time in Eorzea not just for his intellectual promise, but his hunting ability—finely cultivated as it was per his tribe’s values. Sharlayan society was decidedly anti-war and generally weak in physical fighting skills, despite these areas of expertise sometimes practiced at even high levels. It was not unheard of for there to be Archons with excellence in physical combat as their focus, but it was not nearly as common as aetheric pursuits.

So it was quite valuable for him to be able to take to the areas left untouched by the Sharlayans and hunt, his bow and arrows able to kill animals in a consistently clean way. (If it wasn't magical overkill completely destroying prey, the after effects of spells could easily render surviving game unsuitable.)

It would never have been enough to sustain the population’s day-to-day dietary needs, but the meat G’raha hunted was only considered useful learning materials for those studying tomes about the realm's various cuisines. The other parts of his game, like the skins and teeth, were also useful across many pursued disciplines or in the nation’s publishing trade.

(He thought it a cruel jest that his mouth watered remembering the dishes that could be made from what he provided, yet it would all be used solely for research purposes. He agreed with many Sharlayan ideals, but their utilitarian diet was decidedly _not_ one of them.)

He saw this obligation mainly as a blessing though, giving him perfect opportunity to keep his combat skills honed in a society where it would have otherwise been difficult alongside his learning. It would have done him little good to come here and focus on archery instead of Allag, yet if his academic research failed he’d still be able to keep his family’s history and mating strategies an open option. (It remained as unsavory as ever in his mind, though.)

But the hunting did leave him with less time than his peers for self-study, and that was not something he was willing to give up either. So G’raha often took dinner in his room over books and scrolls and other research materials, working late into the night. (He’d partaken of a nightly cup of coffee at first, until he once forgot to make it. After several hours he was more awake for reading than he ever had been as a young boy, discovering that he’d finally embraced a late night life.)

It left him even less time for socializing though, very rarely chatting with his classmates outside of their shared midday meal. But they’d always understood his situation once he explained why he declined their invitations, until it became common knowledge that G’raha Tia’s hours were particularly limited.

Very occasionally he’d have the luxury to relax with them in the afternoons, those rare days when he was ahead of his hunting quota and there was no new information about Allag to be found. He did enjoy these social breaks, but still held himself back more than he had with those outside of his tribe in Eorzea. Instead of opening up about himself, G’raha opted to ask his scholarly peers questions about their own research and intellectual goals. (Answering about his own if pressed, but quickly changing the subject before it could become personal with connections made to the Allagan Eye.)

It had been different with the city-goers he used to chat up in Eorzea, easy conversation flowing about anything and everything as he soaked up the fond smiles of those he’d talk with. He’d enjoyed the anonymity their ignorance of the Eye’s rumors afforded in comparison to his tribe’s prejudices—maybe a part of him didn’t want to jeopardize that in Sharlayan? Or maybe he’d just changed: no longer uncertain about his path, no longer in a place where everyone hated what they thought he represented. Being somewhere that valued the contributions he was capable of making meant more than he could put into words.

It was possible that, as a result, he was fully comfortable in his own company now—no hints of rejection lacing his time spent in solitude. Maybe he just didn’t need to try so hard to capture others’ attention anymore?

He didn't know for sure, but never spend more than his moments before sleep thinking on it. There was so much to learn, so much to discover—there was no time to waste on his own past when a heritage far older was still not fully known to him.

It was this mindset that would see G’raha admitted to university soon enough, having proven his dedication for studying all things Allag to solve his Eye’s mysteries. After finishing his education, he was selected as an Archon specializing in that ancient civilization; his life’s work accelerated dramatically with his newfound access to previously off-limits tomes. (He no longer needed to hunt for tuition, and he couldn’t help but let his daily archery practice slip in favor of spending all day researching these new resources. More than ever it was his true obsession.)

Things…changed as well, reading these increasingly detailed materials and accounts. Sometimes he’d read a passage and just _know_ the reasons and history behind it, even if these were unstated in the text. Or he’d instinctively know where and what to research next to advance his theories, even if it wasn’t at all obvious from the material he’d reviewed. There was something deep inside that led him down a path he could barely see in front of him, but by the Twelve it was _working_. He was gaining an ever expanding and detailed view of Allag, and his intuition filled the gaps in the puzzle that was the Eye. He still didn’t know what it meant—there was precious little information related to the Eye even in forbidden tomes—but he felt he was slowly but surely getting close. His heart held a certainty that he could be the one to solve this.

It was not long into his post-Archon research when he was recruited by Galuf Baldesion personally for his particularly deep knowledge of Allag; he gladly accepted the offered position. G’raha smiled after it was finalized: it was fitting to join the organization that had changed his path in the first place. (Finally meeting Krile was also a joy, having been compared to her so long ago. Though the way she looked at him sometimes did make him uncomfortable, as though she could see deeper into his soul than even he was aware of…)

Not a week into his tenure and Master Galuf entrusted him with observing and lending his expertise to the Mor Dhona expedition of one Rammbroes of the Sons of Saint Coinach. (It was suddenly obvious why the Students had coveted his particular skill set.) G’raha couldn’t sleep at all that night from excitement. He couldn’t help but think of the Allagan ruins and famed Crystal Tower, unearthed in the aftermath of the Seventh Umbral Calamity. He didn’t know why, but he sensed that this would be monumental for his own research goals. And the chance to see Eorzea again after a full epoch, two and ten summers gone…

When he finally arrived, never having been to Revenant’s Toll and thus traveling there partially by chocobo, he looked upon the Tower from the aetheryte plaza in awe. G’raha _had_ meant to go to the Sons’ camp straightaway, but enticing smells from the Seventh Heaven absolutely got the better of him. He soon enjoyed a truly luscious meal—his eyes might have rolled back with delight. He knew full well the bounce in his ears and swish in his tail betrayed him in any case. He honestly didn’t care an onze if anyone saw though; after waiting so godsdamned _long_ to taste real food again, they could stare all they liked. He was going to lick his plate clean either way.

His body’s joyous tells persisted as he practically ran down the path to the Sons’ camp afterwards, too giddy to wait for his chocobo to rest and too eager to pay the local Gigas any mind. (He’d learn from Rammbroes on arrival just how lucky he’d been that they’d wandered away while he’d traveled the road; his bow was always at the ready thereafter.)

* * *

Settling in at expedition headquarters wouldn’t have taken nearly so long, if not for all the books and resources G’raha brought with him from Sharlayan. Fully organizing his tent was nothing short of impossible for him in such close quarters, only managing to pile things as high as he could reach in loose categories for now.

He’d had a chance to meet Cid Garlond and, between the Hyur and Rammbroes, G’raha was fully briefed on the expedition’s status in short order. He was unsurprised that such a robust defense system as the Sentinels existed, given what he’d learned, yet was woefully underskilled to tackle them using only his own knowledge. Cid’s engineering expertise was a welcomed addition as they leveraged their various skills towards the best possible plan.

A few dozen theories and some rather complicated schemas later, their fang solution seemed solid enough to try. This assumed of course that they could gather all the required materials. G’raha had initially volunteered to obtain the crystals from the beast tribes (missing the feel of the bowstring taut in his hand), but that idea was quickly shot down.

“‘We’ll find adventurers to go get them‘, they said. ‘It’ll be harder to get the aethersand, so that’s more urgent to start on‘, they said.” G’raha muttered to himself irritably as he walked familiar paths. “They might have saved their breath and stated plainly that it’s too dangerous for a historian; I could have cut that nonsense short with some freshly hunted hippogryphs before they even knew I was gone. Bah!”

As vexing as it was for them to underestimate his combat skills, in the end he didn’t really argue against his assignment. He was confident in his ability to track down aethersand as quickly as he discovered new Allagan facts or hunted game; it wouldn’t take him nearly as long as they thought it would. At least this way, he’d definitely have enough time to stop for a talk with his father.

As much as G’raha hated the thought of seeing the village or anyone else, he owed the man an in-person visit and not yet another letter after all these years. He wanted his father to at least know that he was getting closer and closer to understanding their Eye. (Though regrettably, the situation required him to be scant with actual information—until and unless the full truth was known with everything properly assessed, he could say precious little. It was the Sharlayan way, and he could not go against that now.)

He braced himself as he came upon his former home; his childhood mask and walls a familiar shield he slipped into naturally. In an instant, it was as though he had never left.

* * *

Focused as he was, G’raha was able to ignore the stares from old and new faces alike as he found the tribe leader and requested his father’s location. His curt tone and few words made it clear this was not a social visit for the village at large. The unease on the tribe leader’s face relaxed slightly at this, but not so much that G’raha had any delusion he’d be tolerated any longer than necessary. The feeling was mutual; waves of G’raha’s old instincts when interacting with his kin threatened to overtake him as he stood in the village. He hadn’t felt this defensive and insecure in a very long time…

He luckily found his father soon after, electing to exchange pleasantries and have their reunion outside of the village in an attempt to regain his equilibrium. His father was older and it showed in a startling way: a little more tired, requiring assistance with rough terrain that he had never needed before. Somehow it grounded G’raha, reminding him of how much time had actually passed since he’d first left. How much he had changed from the young boy who’d felt so trapped here. It was a great help—tribe members openly stared at them as they left, some clearly unnerved at seeing two Eyes for the first time: G’raha’s right a match for his father’s left.

So it wasn’t far before G’raha settled on a spot, helping his father sit atop the large rock and settling there beside him. A streak of pleasant nostalgia cut through his discomfort, reminding him of their shared chats early in life. G’raha embraced his father gently, softly singing one of the songs he’d been taught, as his father pressed back into him. His father’s voice was shakier than he remembered as they parted, but it rose to meet G’raha’s as they sung together for a few minutes.

“Did you get all of my letters?” G’raha began hesitantly after the song had ended. Looking at his father was like looking into a mirror of his future self, so long it’d been since he’d seen the Eye in anyone else.

“Mmm. You’ve accomplished much, from what I read. This is well.” His father’s tone was warm with a hint of pride as he watched his son.

“Good…I wanted you to know that I’m back right now, helping with an Allag-related expedition. I can’t tell you…pretty much anything else at this time. But I can _feel_ it Father, I’m close! This could be the key that unlocks everything I’ve been searching for!”

His father only smiled in return, an easy and contented expression on his face. “You always went your own way Raha, no matter what anyone thought about it. Even me. It used to worry me greatly, I can’t deny it…but I’m glad of it now, you know.”

His father looked up at the sky, Allagan Eye even brighter shining in the light of the sun. “I’m so glad you didn’t listen to me back then. If you have a chance to break this cycle, to understand who we are and find a real purpose for yourself…’tis worth everything you've done and given. ’Tis worth waiting so long to see you again…”

G’raha’s own eyes closed, a line of tears highlighting the curvature of his right cheek as he looked up in turn. “Ah, that’s good. That’s…good…” He couldn’t manage to say anymore, suddenly choked into silence.

His father heard his “Thank you…” regardless.

* * *

It was an afternoon that felt like forever as they caught up on all their years apart, but ended quickly all the same. Soon it was time to help his father back to the village, ensuring he made it safely in time for dinner and settled into his usual evening routine. It pained G’raha to leave his father again, but he promised he’d be in touch as soon as there was anything that he could share. And the sooner he got on with obtaining the various required aethersand, the sooner that could be a possibility.

The smile G’raha gave as he walked away from the village was for his father’s eyes only, as it always had been.

Many years later he’d think back on that afternoon with a pang of regret, but mostly gratitude. Grateful that he’d been denied the chance to raid the beastmen’s stores, and given the chance to see his father in the flesh instead.

As far as final meetings went, it had been a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /wave Thank you so much for reading! :)
> 
> I know there’s varying degrees of lore knowledge and interest out there. (Unless I was the only one living under a rock with just long forgotten in-game MSQ text and various cutscenes’ context to work with at first, due to multiple month to multiple year breaks from the game. In which case ignore what I just said.)
> 
> I hope I was able to strike a good balance between clear and informative storytelling, not being redundant in lore for any buffs that might be reading, and not painting myself into an irrecoverable corner if more lore is clarified in the future. Please do let me know if I’ve missed the mark somewhere! Open to corrections and clarifications, and would love to adjust if changes are needed or become needed due to future patches’ story reveals. (If anything comes up that I can’t manage to reconcile though fic edits, planning on just marking this series as an AU.)
> 
> I made some assumptions that I'll mention mainly for lore clarity:
> 
> I keep running into AO3's character limit for End Notes due to my explanations, so decided to just turn them into Google Docs as-needed. (Just had to edit the list I’d posted since I made a lore logic error, though luckily it doesn’t change the fic in any way.)
> 
> If you’re curious please go to https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eenv-Q3_jY0RUhHpTmGyhdy0KIy76tgVBgHqfbfA7Sc/edit?usp=sharing for my list instead!
> 
> (I’ll probably just resort to Google Docs for this kind of info from the get go in future chapters/fics.)
> 
> I'm working on Chapter 2, though it’s in its infancy as of this publishing. I DO have a more or less final teaser for Chapter 2 I’ll post here. (It’s actually the very first thing I wrote when I started planning out this fic, but decided I liked it positioned after what I covered in Chapter 1.) Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [Chapter 2 teaser]
> 
> He would come to feel a great many things later as he indulged in viewing the Warrior from the Ocular: anticipation, worry, guilt, fear, and (when the fates were kind) joy. A range of feelings from contenting to tormenting that he would gladly navigate to keep that person within his sight.
> 
> But it was none of these, the very first time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters at once, and only a short time after posting Chapter 1? It’s a between-patch miracle! (It’s actually because this was quicker to write than “Your Shades” and Chapter 1, with a side of “Hmm, this chapter should be broken into two. Let’s do that.”)
> 
> So I can’t promise I’ll ever be this fast with as many chapters ever again, but I can still dream!
> 
> (Round 1, start!)

He would come to feel a great many things later as he indulged in viewing the Warrior from the Ocular: anticipation, worry, guilt, fear, and (when the fates were kind) joy. A range of feelings from contenting to tormenting that he would gladly navigate to keep that person within his sight.

But it was none of these, the very first time.

* * *

If pressed after the dust had settled, G’raha wouldn’t have been able to fully explain what had caused him to initiate a sequence of events that were so incredibly…childish, in retrospect.

Rammbroes had been attempting to contact him via linkpearl, probably multiple times. He was loathe to admit he’d taken it off for privacy’s sake before visiting his father…

…and had forgotten about it completely.

…

It’s not as though he’d gone around Sharlayan using a linkpearl all the time for gods’ sake; it just wasn’t a habit! (It also felt strange in his ear and ruined his hearing for hunting even if silent, so he hadn’t been inclined to wear it in the first place.)

He’d tested it out of ear soon after he left the camp, asking Rammbroes to contact him five minutes after he teleported away (under the guise of verifying it was working at further ranges.) It had _seemed_ like he’d be able to hear it go off among his things at the time, but…

He only noticed when he was breaking camp a few mornings later and the ringing orb fell out of his bag (triggering its pressure-based call response in the process.) His fellow Archon spoke with a none-too-pleased raised voice, indicating Cid’s adventurer friend had already gotten all four flawless crystals _and_ the fire and earth aethersand and _where in the seven hells was he?_

With ears flattened back and a blank look on his face, G’raha cut off the call wordlessly.

…_well_ then.

All in all, he was thoroughly embarrassed—far too much to tell Rammboes just then what had _actually _happened with his linkpearl over the last several days.

So he put the blasted thing in his bag once more and left that problem for another time, resolving to set out immediately for Urth’s Gift in South Shroud. He’d learned ore for creating water-blessed aethersand could be found there, the beasts roaming the area deterring most miners from even attempting to secure a haul. Making quick work of anything hunt-worthy was a given and, while no master miner, he’d learned enough via his tribe’s survival trainings. Unearthing a few rocks and grinding them down was well within his abilities.

Since he’d heard rumors of wind-touched aethersand held by the Ixal beastmen in the North Shroud, he was sure to return to Rammbroes soon enough with the final two aethersand in hand. (Perhaps delivering it at the same time he explained what had happened would forgive his lack of communication…or so G’raha hoped.)

* * *

Above a glade with the fresh smells of the Shroud below him, bits of recent events flashed in G’raha’s mind:

_“Victory has made me magnanimous, however.”_  
_ “This to be a _race_.”_  
_ “May the best man win!”_

_Oh. That just happened, didn’t it._  
_ Bugger._

Part of him wanted to smack himself upside the head for goading the person who was, in all likelihood, Cid’s adventurer. (Why else would someone have shown no confusion as they listened intently to his monologue? It had to be them.)

And the rest of him couldn’t wait for them to just _leave_ already so he could hop down from his cliffside treetop and make his way to Fallgourd Float without the sound of teleportation giving him away. He’d come up with this thrice damned idea, he definitely wasn’t going to lose after all that.

…G’raha couldn’t believe he’d let his pride get the better of him to this extent.

He’d spent years in Sharlayan competing with no one but himself, pushing harder and harder to learn as much as he could about Allag and his Eye. His every interaction with people there had been of the utmost cooperation, sharing materials and ideas with his peers at all levels as often as his time had permitted. To further _everyone’s_ goals.

When was the last time he’d done something so petty? Why didn’t he just reveal himself when they’d arrived and work together to get the last aethersand? It’s not as though begging Rammbroes’ forgiveness via reagents was worth antagonizing someone clearly involved with the expedition for the immediate, if not indefinite, future. From what he knew of Rammbroes so far, his patience could be patched up eventually…but would Cid’s friend be so understanding?

He had no idea, but it wasn’t a stretch that they would be as no-nonsense in their assignments as Cid had been with his.

That the adventurer had completed their own task _and_ half of the other before he’d finished his half? It was vexing, true, but that wasn’t what had caused his rash decision. Not completely…

He sighed to himself. It mattered little, the damage was already done. Without thinking he’d blurted out the first words that came to mind, holding it over their head that he’d gotten to the needed ore first and issued a challenge with a whimsy he hadn’t felt since he’d cleared his father’s waist in a growth spurt.

Surely setting foot in his village again hadn’t thrown him off _that_ much…right?

He noted the adventurer had finally departed. Gathering up his things and the newly acquired ore-turned-aethersand, regret dominated his mind as he prepared to teleport.

_Well, I can’t change things now. Might as well get on my way; I’ll figure something out._

He needn't have worried.

* * *

G’raha arrived at the Ixali logging grounds just in time to see the adventurer approach the aethersand and walk right into an ambush. Not that it mattered.

It was as though they had caught the Ixali forces deep asleep on watch; no attacks phased that person. The battle seemed to offer no challenge at all, despite the beastmen’s ferocity—quick work was made of the defenders who dared tread near the scene. All with a graceful precision he’d rarely seen before, and always in someone at the peak of their combat ability.

Before his eyes they obtained the last aethersand as easily as he’d exchange a few gil with Gridania’s tradecraft supplier for common goods.

It was…inspiring to watch. Who _were_ they?

There was a flutter of excitement that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. (Differing slightly from the thrill of his recent research breakthroughs, but every bit as exhilarating.)

And he suddenly knew what to do to solve this mess of his own making.

He jumped from perch to perch near the logging camp entrance to a landing at the steps of Proud Creek, carefully avoiding the walking suits of iron to tuck the pouch of his own aethersand safely on a boulder along the right. It was easy enough to move within earshot of that person again, and he caught their attention as they were quitting the place.

“Bravo! That was quite a show, adventurer! Why, the spectacle proved so enthralling that all thoughts of aethersand slipped my mind. I appear to have forfeited our little race! Congratulations—the wind-touched abrasive is yours. And yet, having been treated to such a memorable performance, I cannot help feeling that the greater prize is mine. This inequity must not stand. I _insist_ that you accept a token of my appreciation. Payment for this entertainment will be waiting for you to the east, in a clearing within Proud Creek. Pray retrieve the gift ere it is crushed beneath the iron feet of the dullahans!”

Before the adventurer could guess his location G’raha jumped away, hiding himself nicely above the nearby stone cavern formations. As in Urth’s Gift, there would be no spying him at this height once he found the right tree.

All he could do was wait for them to catch up and find the aethersand. They paused oddly after ascending the stairs to the landing, making him concerned they’d turn to leave and force him to bring Cid the reagent personally. But eventually the adventurer went in to retrieve it.

He limited his words after they’d picked up it up and secured it among their personal effects. It was worth the effort for brevity—the sooner he stopped talking, the sooner they’d return to the camp. And the sooner they returned to the camp, the sooner he could introduce himself properly.

So he conveyed only essential information: the ore’s transformation to desired aethersand, his reasons for abruptly abandoning their competition, and that he would greatly like to record the deeds of their career in his new profession. (He may not have said the latter per say, but it was neither the time nor the place to actually ask, was it. They hadn’t even truly met yet.)

Speaking of which…

“We shall meet again, adventurer—and sooner than you may imagine.”

* * *

After teleporting to Revenant’s Toll he snuck up to the top of the expedition camp’s scaffolding, awaiting the adventurer’s return. He was not kept waiting long.

Since the new arrivals’ uniforms bore the same seal as the fangs’ schemas, G’raha was not surprised they were colleagues of Cid come to join the expedition. A proper name was definitely in order now, and he knew just the thing to propose.

He observed a bit, enough to hear Cid’s sensible and responsible perspective on Allagan technology back at the camp, and called down compliments to that effect as an announcement of his presence.

But G’raha could see plainly what was barely contained behind his fellow Archon’s shaking head and gesturing arms as his return was noticed. _And here it comes…_

“So, you return at last. What, pray tell, has kept you so wholly preoccupied that you could not spare a moment to inform me of your progress or preservation?”

He may have _looked_ confident up there, but G’raha was fighting hard not to lower his ears and flinch at Rammbroes’ words. (At the very least, he hoped he was far enough away to hide any reactions that happened to slip past his resolve.)

In that instant, he couldn’t resist answering in a way that let him save at least a little bit of face. He wasn’t about to explain visiting his father to the assembly below, nor cherished the inevitable lecture on the proper use of linkpearls had he been completely honest.

Was it bending the truth a little, speaking as though he’d collected both aethersand first and _then_ passed them to the adventurer? Well, yes—there was no denying it.

But he had gotten to the ore first, processed it, and told the adventurer where to go to obtain the wind variety before surrendering the other; it was still rather close. Even if his contributions weren’t quite to the stated proportion, G’raha hoped that person wouldn’t hold it against him for long. He'd meant every word of his “capable courier” praise after all, even if it _was_ said in tandem with placating Rammbroes’ ire.

He jumped down eagerly, full glad to finally meet the eyes of the one who’d so impressed him. With a wave of his hand, he quipped “Greetings, adventurer! Did I not say we would meet again?” before introducing himself properly, name and all.

When Rammbroes added his additional words of introduction, G’raha couldn’t help but sigh inside.

_Really Rammbroes, “eccentricities”? I suppose that’s fair, but must you when the adventurer’s_ right _ther—_

He stopped, frozen. Surely he’d jolted his head with his landing—his eyes deceived a poor jest.

They were…smiling. Warmly.

…

But it made no sense! Even if he’d managed to salvage something from the mess in the Shroud, it was impossible that it hadn’t been at least a _little_ off-putting for them. If not completely vexing, having an unseen stranger challenge them to some race like they were childhood playmates engaged in an afternoon of fun. Let alone one who also changed the rules at a moment’s notice.

But…they’d _smiled_ after Rammbroes’ words. A _genuine_ smile. Directed at _him_…

His heart knew immediately what made this so special, but it took his mind a long while longer to understand. All he noticed at first was how said heart was racing, just as that person had raced across the Shroud on his whims.

He couldn’t stop grinning as he named their newfound fellowship: NOAH.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :) We've officially hit Slooooooow Burn status, y'all. \o/
> 
> * * *
> 
> Regarding teleporting from trees, I know that _we_ can do that just fine. But I'm also assuming NPCs able to teleport would prefer in practice to do something so inherently risky while solidly on the ground. :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> If anyone else's Warrior of Light does not have a stupidly happy smile on their face at the end of that cutscene that lasts multiple frames…I'm sorry? My female Midlander sure does.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I struggled with what to do for G’raha’s English quest text-inspired scenes, given I’ve indicated he tends to speak to others informally as influenced by his canon Japanese speech patterns. 
> 
> I don’t have the translation skill to recognize and apply all the formality nuances in an English text modification which would do _any_ of it justice. But it was important to me that this be a familiar refresher for the non-Unending Journey parts of the Crystal Tower questline. Thus I also didn’t feel right creating paraphrased quest text for this fic. (The quest is “A Performance for the Ages” for anyone wanting the title.)
> 
> I’m left cursing my subpar Japanese because if my comprehension and translation skills were better, I’d modify the English just enough to make it comparably informal yet keep it recognizable. T_T (End Notes on nuances it is, then!)
> 
> I’ve decided what I’ll do to indicate his informality in English when the time comes (which will be in a later chapter.) Though that’ll have its own challenges, and its own End Notes as a result. :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> (Let me know if you caught the nod to my favorite stone world scientist in there, too! G'raha channeling Senku for a moment was definitely intentional. ;) )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Round 2, start!)

Early on in your adventuring life you’d learned there were patterns to what most folks parted gil for, and started looking for them accordingly.

Eliminating an entity—for a variety of reasons, but as long as it was morally sound you spent most of your energy completing the task swiftly and sanely. (Your intuition and eye for the reprehensible hadn’t failed you yet when deciding to accept a job, after all.)

Escorting and aiding people—those lacking combat skills, slotting your skill set into an otherwise incomplete party, and everything in-between. People always had places to be and things to do in dangerous areas, and you helped clear their way as best you saw fit. (Often soothing some truly rattled nerves along the way.)

And obtaining items—varying in worth, but never in significance. Sometimes it was objectively precious spoils from dungeons; your employer's profits always depended on their market expertise, but your payment for services was usually well enough regardless. Others were purely sentimental: a lost love’s necklace made of brass and a fluorite gem. Near worthless monetarily, yet invaluable to the requester for reasons you were always invested in (but never pried for if not shared.)

Even though they hadn’t fed or sheltered you in beds as easily, you’d always liked those jobs the most by far.

Though recently, a hybrid of all these was emerging: obtaining or doing things, often risky even by your standards, that were a means to a worthwhile end. (Regardless of whether or not you received coin afterwards.)

It’d become increasingly common as your fate entwined deeper and deeper with the Scions; your course veering from that of a normal adventurer to…that of the “Warrior of Light”, you supposed. (Or so they said these days, no matter how the title made you uneasy at times. Its significance and ramifications were affecting you uncertainly; it was definitely changing things, though.)

But the time you were sent to obtain some aethersand, a step towards preventing another Allagan disaster, and got a competition like none you’d ever known? _ That _was something else entirely.

* * *

Rammbroes’ guidance had been simple enough: teleport to Gridania, see its market master, determine where to purchase the needed aethersand.

Which had led to reasonably familiar plan adjustments: at the next spot you could expect a vicious hog to slay, plus special ore to mine as an added step. Then, if you couldn't do it yourself, ensuring that ore was turned into aethersand (probably back in Gridania), with a return to the expedition camp soon after. And assuming Cid’s fangs worked out, if the Eight Sentinels were any indication you might need to call on those you’d worked with before during jobs too big for you alone.

Simple, and not terribly unlike the tasks that had been a staple of your career recently.

Until you arrived in Urth’s Gift and found a _ massive _boar laid low in the clearing’s stream, freshly killed if you weren’t mistaken. Obviously the beast you were warned about. In an area people apparently feared treading because of it, if the market master was to be believed.

…what?

As you started examining the kill for cause of death, you heard a voice that sounded every bit the cat settled in to enjoy a bowl of cream. And then it hit you.

_ The Sharlayan friend, of course! _

While glad he wasn’t in dire straits as Rammbroes’ had feared, you didn’t expect him to stay so well hidden he might as well have been a shade speaking to you. You didn’t expect him to boast about his speedier achievements like he knew you were there for the selfsame purpose. _ (Did Rammbroes manage to contact him after all and tell him about me?) _

And you definitely didn’t expect to be given the location of the last aethersand and put on a clock to retrieve it before him. Leaving you perplexed about exactly what had just happened (and what exactly he’d been thinking when he decided to make your common goal into a race of all things.)

But your recent experiences had taught you how to take action when you felt you understood precious little, least of all how you were feeling about what you _ did _know. So you were phased for only a moment before teleporting to the North Shroud, filled with a sudden determination to not lose…whatever the hells it was that he’d just put into motion.

* * *

Keeping watch for anyone staring at you within the settlement, you made your way out of Fallgourd Float towards the Ixali logging grounds. _ Ugh, why did I not think to ask Rammbroes what he looked like before I left? _you thought crossly as you rode. In hindsight it would have been good to know even if his friend hadn’t successfully intervened, in case you’d found a corpse in the glade instead of the boar; a lesson learned for next time, then.

The battle with the beastmen was not overly taxing, though you kept focused to avoid injuries born of carelessness. When you were sure no other forces was coming, you grabbed the aethersand and turned to see if there was anyone approaching from the site entrance. No one…

Had he underestimated you when proposing your competition? You assumed you’d at least see him here, given this was his idea in the first place. It made no sense otherwise…unless the Ixal had stored multiple bags of sand and he was long away to Mor Dhona with one of them.

The thought left you quite miffed that you’d possibly lost the race even though you’d hurried. But your responsible side shone through after a few moments—at least, no matter what, there’d be plenty of reagents for Cid to do his part.

“Bravo! That was quite a show, adventurer!…”

Despite scanning everywhere, you couldn’t tell where he was located through his voice alone. So you resigned to just listen as he explained why he’d forgotten about and thus lost your race. He sent you off with added instructions before departing—find a gift that he’d apparently left for you nearby. (You could tell he was gone by the way his voice faded gently into silence, instead of a harsher full stop.)

Curious—his voice had not done that in the South Shroud. _ Was he watching me until I left that glade earlier? Or is he just in a rush to place his gift and was too hasty? _

Without stopping to decide if it was wise, you set off for the spot he’d mentioned. _ So he forfeited the race because he was too busy enjoying my fight to try for the aethersand. And now he wants to _ reward _ me for my skills. What in the Twelve’s name is he playing at? _

You were surprised that, despite wariness rising due to his bizarre actions, there was something else underneath it. Faint, but competing with it. _ Hmm. _

But the spot was just up those stairs, so your attention turned elsewhere.

Walking quietly to avoid the dullahans’ notice, you stopped to see if you could hear or see anyone. No…though that had meant very little today. You were about to proceed when a thought froze you in place. _ Oh no… _

Closing your eyes, you swallowed hard as you remembered Thancred in a sea of smoke and fire—devoured metal in the background framing the Ascian's mark on his face.

It meant _ nothing _ that this was likely Rammbroes’ friend. How could you know someone recently silent in communications _ and _missing was even who they should be? Lahabrea and Thancred were proof enough of that—for all you knew you could be walking into an ambush. Or worse.

You wanted to smack yourself for letting recklessness take over when you’d first heard his voice. Going all across the Shroud just because he instructed it, barely thinking things through in your…what, excitement? As though you were playing a childhood game of hide and seek?

As though you had the luxury of fun anymore. It could have gotten you killed.

…

But your instinct that this man could be trusted was also _ very _ strong. The only time it’d ever been stronger was…when you’d first met Minfilia. (You started breathing deeper of the forest around you, trying to bring back your focus with every rush of air.)

There was something about the way he’d spoken to you, just now. And it settled you more and more as you quieted your mind, letting your intuition lead. After you did, it was as though everything was as it should be—a feeling of _ rightness _that grew stronger and stronger as seconds became minutes.

Decision made, you opened your eyes. You would stay wary, but you were willing to try.

* * *

It was easy to see a sack resting on the rocks along the rightmost side: size and shape similar to the Ixal’s sand, with its bottom sagging slightly from weight on the unyielding surface. _ Could that be… _Picking it up, your suspicion was confirmed: it was a bag of sandy material.

_ So the Ixal had a second bag. I suppose I could sell— _

“Not what you were expecting? I took the liberty of refining the ore from Urth's Gift into aethersand. Do keep it safe, adventurer.”

_ Well _then. That was actually a help and a half, if it was the truth.

“Lest you accuse me of playing games, you should know that the thought of relinquishing my prize never once crossed my mind—until I saw you in action. Such deeds must needs be rewarded.”

_ A spur of the moment decision then? Hmm. _

“It is my vocation, you see, to record history as it is made by mortal men. And I much prefer to chronicle the accomplishments of the bold and the mighty.”

It made no sense, but hearing that panged your heart a touch poorly and lowered your mood…

“Thus, it is my fervent wish that you continue your career with the same courage and zeal you have shown today. We shall meet again, adventurer—and sooner than you may imagine.”

…only to have it lift again, soaring higher than before as his voice trailed off from quitting this place.

You were reasonably sure you were alone now, which was a good thing—there was no one to see tears prick the corners of your eyes save the bats and the headless golems.

You stood there awhile trying to understand, trying to know your own reactions. Because it felt as though you’d been one person in a moment, and another in the next. Not at all like a vision, but jarring all the same. And then you realized it.

Oh…he’d been calling you an adventurer the whole time. Not the “Warrior of Light” as he spoke, but _ adventurer _…

…you’d forgotten what it was like for admiration to be aligned with that aspect of you, a part of you growing slowly but surely less important to those around you. To those you cared about.

A part of you rapidly disappearing from view. A part of you…that you didn’t want to give up for the sake of the other.

…

You were afraid to hope that you wouldn’t have to, not completely. But there was only one way to find out.

* * *

Cid had verified the aethersand varieties were what they should be before beginning his work, which was a good sign. (Though by no means proof of benevolence, it eased your mind for the moment.)

You hadn’t noticed the breath you were holding, listening to Cid talk with the others in the camp after the fangs’ completion. Not until you heard his voice again, finally tracing it to his location above the scaffolding.

Rammbroes’ called out an understandable inquiry as to where the hells his friend had been (more carefully worded, but not lacking in heat for it.) _ Rammbroes didn’t get to contact him after all? _ Somewhat _ concerning then that he knew of me_.

But the figure’s reply raised your eyebrows towards the true moon.

“Why, the task you assigned to me, of course. Surely you have not forgotten about the aethersand? I tasked a passing adventurer with delivering it. A more capable courier I could not imagine.”

_ So _that's _how you want to play this. _ You’d let it slide for now, intending to pry him for the truths behind his partial (or full) lie soon enough. Choosing to tell yourself it was purely to ensure he was not an Ascian was an option _ … _ but that would be the lie you told _ yourself _in kind.

And you were not wont to lie to yourself.

He suddenly jumped down all in one go and you felt terror lace your surprise, both vanishing as he landed perfectly balanced on the ground. Your heart slowed to a more reasonable pace. _ (The damned cat_, you’d think back on it later, _ ever the dramatic one.) _

You saw no dark crystals, which only meant his status was still uncertain—a mark of possession could be hiding under the weighty silver necklace, or in any number of pockets and clothing nooks. But the flicker of hope inside you burned much brighter despite yourself.

He looked up at you, and said words that you would never forget. “Greetings, adventurer! Did I not say we would meet again?”

You listened as one Archon apologized for the other: G’raha Tia was quite an eccentric, and Rammbroes hoped you’d consider forgiving it as he joined the group.

And…there was the exhale.  
Forgive? There was nothing to forgive—you were nothing short of _ thrilled_.

_Maybe…he’s just like that? If this is how he usually is… _You never knew if the joy jolting you was properly concealed as you watched G’raha, but you barely noticed your own reactions anyway.

His grin was worth committing to memory with all of your attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /wave Thanks for reading the second part of this double-feature post! Your interest in the series and support means so much to me—I’d hit ao3’s End Notes character limit just trying to express it all. It still wouldn’t be enough room. :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> To be honest I was a little nervous posting Chapters 2 and 3 at the same time, wondering if it’d be boring to potentially read them so rapidly together. (Or just plain boring in general, having the same quest described from both characters’ perspectives one after the other.) I hadn't originally planned on writing the Warrior's POV for this one, actually—it just kind of happened? (I'm starting to better understand the fic writers I've read who've said the characters had others plans for them!) Since it's been almost a month since writing "Your Shades", it was nice to visit the Warrior's headspace again—especially a relatively happier one. :)
> 
> After things were finished, I still liked the idea of posting the separated chapters together since they’re mirrors of the same event. (The reason they weren’t a single chapter is because I really disliked changing both the POV style and narrator abruptly in the same slice of fic, even if the Warrior section's flow made it natural to recount the events again.)
> 
> I was careful to only reuse the most influential quest text in both chapters as "syncing points", so to speak. Hopefully that kept it from being too redundant!
> 
> * * *
> 
> If the nod to the Warrior's former purely adventurer's life doesn't make sense for what legacy characters experienced, I'm sorry? Hopefully it still jives well with the side quests you're able to do before getting very far in the MSQ in 2.0.
> 
> * * *
> 
> (If anyone forgot like I had, they eventually verified Thancred was being possessed at the end of 2.0 because of a dark crystal that the Warrior destroys after the Praetorium is finished.) 
> 
> Maybe my Warrior of Light is more wary than canon portrays, or canon!WoL just didn't think about G'raha's status at the time, but I have to think if the similarities were noticed there'd be some kind of strong reaction there as it was a very impactful set of circumstances. I also just like the idea of the very thing G'raha expects to be rejected for (being different) is what makes the Warrior of Light trust their intuition about him—at least enough to proceed with the expedition for now.


End file.
